


The Things Will Graham Carried

by HappyFuseli



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Things They Carried - Tim O'Brien
Genre: Canon Compliant, E. E. Cummings - Freeform, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyFuseli/pseuds/HappyFuseli
Summary: “They carried the sky. The whole atmosphere, they carried it, the humidity, the monsoons, the stink of fungus and decay, all of it, they carried gravity.” ― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 30





	The Things Will Graham Carried

Will Graham has often carried fishing gear. He’s carried rods, reels, lures and pliers. He’s carried a .44 special and the dossiers of cartoonishly evil men, howling wolves with bulging eyes. He’s carried dead women in his arms. One he carried in his imagination, gently placing her inside the body of a dead horse. As Inspector Pazzi once said, Will Graham carried the dead within himself.

**Part 1**

The Nappa leather upright was really too airy for a simple trip to visit Molly’s parents, but Will had always been impressed with the design. It was a Dior, certainly high-priced, yet business sophisticated. It had been at least six years since Hannibal had given it to him as a present after taking note of the crumbling laptop bag Will often toted into his classes at Quantico.

The evening of Hannibal’s arrest, Will had walked back inside his house, nails digging into his palms, and kicked the bag as hard as he could, sending it sailing across his bedroom and into the dresser. 

Molly, during her search for suitable vacation luggage, had been the one to find the bag earlier that evening, indiscriminately tossed at random into the attic. Will had kept his expression neutral as she handed it over to him. “Oh, here’s something,” she had said, “Why don’t you use this instead of the other one.” _The other one_ was an old army surplus duffel bag. The few times Will and his little family had gone anywhere during their three years of marriage, Molly had made a point to joke about the state of the bag, her preferred observation being that Will made more than enough money for a fussy set of contemporary luggage.

Will had wondered, for a moment, who would be the next to question his taste, or apparent lack thereof, in baggage. 

Molly took the case down on a Monday, at which time Will brought it into their bedroom and placed it next to the bed, the luminosities of his mind turning, as they so often did, to focus on his friend.

Hannibal.

Hannibal was the only real friend Will had ever had, though the word _friend_ never really seemed to adequately describe what they had been to each other. No one had ever understood him so completely, and no one, besides Will, had ever looked upon Hannibal’s aggregate with such startling accuracy. In truth, Will had been afraid to define such a pairing, afraid of what it might say about him and all the horrors he had tried so desperately to forgive.

They were to make the short drive to Richmond on Friday. So, Will gradually began collecting various items from home to bring with him on their brief jaunt. 

Each day Will shoved a different little something into the case, feeding a growing impulse he couldn’t quite name, one that led him to run his fingers over the soft, deep brown lambskin and along the paths made by each gold-tinged zipper. Some items were necessary and others less so. 

On Monday, it was two plain white t-shirts and one pair of black slacks.

Tuesday, there were disposable razors.

Wednesday, a black pullover, a can of spray deodorant, and the overly musky after-shave balm Molly often ordered for him.

Thursday, Will packed a travel-sized toothbrush.

Friday morning, he placed a bottle of wine in a thermal cooler, a few pairs of shorts, and the novel Molly had given him for Christmas. 

As Will went to close the case, he noticed Walter’s water gun on the floor next to the bed. He added it to the load and zipped up, only to reconsider and remove the toy a moment later before heading out to meet his wife the kitchen.

It didn’t seem right somehow, putting something that belonged to Walter into the suitcase. Will thought briefly about forgoing the suitcase altogether in favor of his duffel bag when the phone rang.

**Part 2**

Some part of Will had already made up his mind the moment he had heard Jack’s voice. Though, upon first subjecting himself to the Tooth Fairy’s crime scenes, he couldn’t clearly ascertain his purpose in following Jack Crawford back into the inferno. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help catch the killer, or that he didn’t have a soft spot for the long-standing agent-in-charge sitting across from him on the front steps on the Leeds residence, that anxious look of concern permanently etched into the corners of his eyes and mouth. Rather, Will’s purpose, he would eventually come to realize, had more to do with the constant ache he carried just below his sternum, a longing he yearned satisfy.

By the time Hannibal’s letter had reached Will, cautioning him of the madness to come, it had been too late. Will momentarily considered refolding and placing the letter into his pocket before tossing it into the fire. Whether he carried the letter with him or not was of little importance, as its fate would be that of any other object connecting Will to Hannibal. It has been too late the moment Molly had unknowingly retrieved Hannibal’s gift from the attic. Just as it had been too late when Hannibal turned himself in, so Will would always know where to find him. 

Perhaps, Will thinks, as he rides in the black van carrying him ever-closer to Baltimore Hospital, it has always been too late.

Will leans back into his seat and takes a calming breath, slowly exhaling through his mouth, lips pursed, allowing Hannibal once again into the palace of his mind. Here, in a lush forest lit by hundreds of fireflies, they don’t speak of the dragon.

Jack says something, but Will isn’t paying attention. He’s imagining Hannibal next to him in the car with Will in the driver’s seat. Will asks Hannibal to describe all the places he has ever been. They drive all afternoon beneath trees whose roots wrap together under the road in the dark. Hannibal mentions love being a lot like the shadows between wildflowers draped in tall grass whose roots twist up the black, in the miniature darkness under everything they see.

When Will finally lays eyes on Hannibal again, the story in his mind’s eye doesn’t end. Will begins to recall the way Hannibal’s musical tone put him in a place where he could take a handful of moments for granted. It’s a song Will hums to himself, even as everything else around him, everything that isn’t Hannibal, begins to dissolve, washed away by the raucous flow. 

**Part 3**

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

― E. E. Cummings, _i carry your heart with me_

Will had the expectation of a satisfying conclusion, the dragon slain, and Hannibal there, cradling Will in his arms, victorious. But again, Will’s left at sea. That sound, that collision, a tide that is always casting an outline into who Will has become, who they’ve become together. 

“This is all I ever wanted for you, Will, for both of us.” Hannibal’s voice, the ultra sound, shadows on moving water.

“It’s beautiful.”

Will carries them over the edge of the cliff and they seem to connect to the ocean without force. Moving water understands gravity, a gravity from which we have all come. It’s this gravity that compels Will to open his eyes for what feels like the first time.

As Will wrenches Hannibal’s unconscious body to the surface and carries him toward higher ground, the ocean around them explains all the things words cannot. Will presses his lips to Hannibal’s mouth and gravity sings. The first thing Hannibal sees upon regaining consciousness is Will’s face framed by the moon, willing the ocean from Hannibal’s lungs. He coughs once, twice, and places an arm around Will’s shoulders, urging him forward.


End file.
